


Tuesday Mornings

by pacifictiger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cross Country, Fluff, M/M, castiel is a runner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pacifictiger/pseuds/pacifictiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a runner, and Dean helps him when he's injured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuesday Mornings

Dean sat to the side of the large dorm building, on an old bench named for someone he'd never heard of. It was too early for anyone to be up, and the entire campus had disappeared into a dense fog. This was not what Dean had imagined college to be like. It was only his first month of classes, and yet, here he was. A particularly obnoxious bird calling out was the only sound. If Dean's insane wreck of a roommate wasn't finishing an essay due in two hours, Dean would be sleeping like the rest of the dorm. But the insistent ticking of Garth's keyboard was enough to keep Dean awake, so he instead chose to sit out on this slightly damp with morning dew bench.

  
As Dean grumbled to himself about his poor choice in roommates, he heard footsteps approaching. Someone was running, probably on the scenic path that lead throughout the campus. As the person rounded the corner, Dean watched, absentmindedly tracking their gliding steps. It was a man, probably a student, and he was running like a fucking gazelle. Not that Dean was a runner, but anyone could appreciate a form as perfect as that. Or an ass as perfect as that.

 

The man was passing by Dean now. Dean wondered why anyone would be running this early in the morning, especially on a foggy day like this. There were probably serial killers lurking behind the meticulously groomed shrubs. But this man was, and he nodded to Dean as he ran by.

 

Dean nodded back, and continued to watch as the man ran past, down another pathway. Maybe there were some perks to this otherwise horrific time of day.

 

-

 

It was a Tuesday, which meant Garth had another psychology class and another paper due. This also meant that Dean had returned to his bench, and was now reacquainting himself with the horrible feeling of sitting on a damp bench in dry clothes. But he wasn't that upset, seeing as he had a chance to see his runner again. For the past week, Dean had tried to notice the people in the groups and classes, looking for this man. But he was either very unlucky, or the runner was very reclusive. Actually, Dean thought, that would explain why he's up at this insane time to go running.

 

Footsteps, lightly in the distance, and then the man again. This time, he was wearing black running leggings that matched his dark hair, and Dean was entranced. The man caught sight of Dean and nodded again, and Dean smiled and nodded back. As the man passed by, Dean saw the root a split second before the man's foot made contact with it. And then he was sailing over, onto the ground.

 

"Shit, are you ok?" Dean was on his feet and jogging over before the runner even had a chance to get up.

 

"I'm not entirely sure," he responded. His palms had little pieces of gravel sticking to them, indenting into his skin but not breaking the surface. Except it looked like a few did, and he had angry red streaks across his palms where he had tried to brace himself.

 

"I think I may have twisted my ankle," he said gloomily, and tried to straighten his foot as he sat on the path. He moaned in pain, and then collapsed backwards, lying across the path. His ankle was now relatively straight, but the man still seemed distraught. He cursed at the sky, and Dean, the man who practically grew up in bars, was shocked and a bit impressed.

 

"I can't deal with another fucking injury," the man gasped. Dean crouched next to him, unsure if he wanted help. Because Dean wanted to help, it was just in his nature, but this man seemed pretty pissed. And no matter how attractive this guy was, Dean was not up for a confrontation this early in the morning.

 

"Do you want help getting up?" Dean asked tentatively.

 

"I think so," the man answered, finally looking at Dean. With the man's arm over Dean's shoulder and his weight balanced on his normal leg, he was now upright and much less hateful. All of the rage over his injury seemed to spill out, and he smiled timidly at Dean.

 

"I'm sorry you had to see me in such a state, but I'm training for a race and this," he gestured at his injuries, "is definitely a step back. Can we go to the infirmary?"

 

"It's ok man, I get it," Dean nodded. They started walking, with the man's weight still mostly balanced on Dean. He was a bit shorter than Dean, but not by much. He was leaner too, built like a runner.

 

"It was rather crude and unnecessary. And very unlike me." the man continued, "My name is Castiel."

 

"I'm Dean," the other man responded. Castiel seemed concentrated on his steps and not using his ankle too much, but he still grinned at Dean in a way that made Dean reflexively smile back.

 

"I'm a cross country runner, and our states meet was in a week," Castiel explained.

 

"That sucks," Dean said. "I bet you were a really good runner too." Castiel blushed a bit, in a way that made Dean want to compliment him more.

 

"You could say that," Castiel responded. "My coach will be even more upset than me."

 

They arrived at the infirmary, and Dean knew he probably could abandon Castiel at this point, but he didn't. The two entered the campus building together, with their arms loosely around each other.

 

-

 

Castiel was right. The coach was actually insane. Apparently, Castiel had single handedly destroyed the entire cross country program. Dean could feel himself flinching and shriveling up, and he was sitting outside the office waiting while Castiel was being yelled at. At least now Dean understood why Castiel had been so upset when he fell. Dean had stuck with Castiel all throughout the infirmary and now to his coaches office, deflecting Castiel's offers to walk by himself.

 

The door slammed open, and Castiel, with his eyes on the ground, limped out, his ankle wrapped in tape and the tall, enraged coach looming behind him.

 

"You alright?" Dean stood, and was at Castiel's side in seconds. Castiel nodded, and the two left the office together.

 

-

 

After walking Castiel to his dorm, and shyly waving goodbye, Dean walked back to his building and laid in bed. He didn't even ask Castiel for his number, or learn anything about him other than his name. Castiel was still a mystery, and even more intriguing now that Dean had had a conversation with him.

 

Dean sighed, rolled over, and decided to sleep on it. 

 

-

 

Next Tuesday, Dean sat on the bench again. This time, he wasn't expecting any footsteps, and was shocked when Castiel appeared out of the fog, and sat next to him. His dark hair stuck up, and he was wearing flannel pajama bottoms.

 

"I was wondering if I could buy you coffee, as a thank you for helping me last week," Castiel started. Dean was shocked to see him, and flailed a bit.

 

"I like coffee," Dean responded, and he knew it didn't convey how happy he was to get coffee with Castiel, but it was enough. The two set off, in the direction of the campus coffee shop, and Dean wanted to skip, but he instead settled for a content smile as Castiel spoke.

 

"Usually I run in the mornings so I don't have to share the path with people, but I like sharing with you," Castiel smirked. Dean was pretty sure he was blushing, but he couldn't care less.

 

-

 

"Are you serious? You're a freshman?"

 

The green vinyl of the booth squeaked a bit when Dean moved around. He nodded, and was pretty sure the expression of light shock on Castiel's face was mirrored on his own. Castiel was a senior, and the captain of the cross country team. Dean, meanwhile, was unsure of where exactly the library was and lived in the smallest dorm room to ever exist. And yet, he felt more at home than ever with Castiel, who had a dry and sarcastic sense of humor, and had kept Dean talking and laughing throughout their entire walk.

 

"I thought you were a junior, you're just so," Castiel started, but then stopped, blushing under the warm yellow light.

 

"So what?" Dean smirked, his hand curled around the handle of a porcelain mug. Castiel shook his head, and smiled into his coffee.

 

"Do you want to do this next week?"

 

"Definitely."


End file.
